


Blind

by Erua



Category: Star Trek: The Next Generation
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-10
Updated: 2011-04-10
Packaged: 2017-10-17 21:08:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/181190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Erua/pseuds/Erua
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Genre exercise: modern AU. A young writer and his criminal brother struggle to give shape to their unusual relationship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blind

**Author's Note:**

> Paramount owns 'em. This is only a sketch for a longer project that, knowing myself, I will probably never post...

Lawrence stood on the sidewalk in front of restaurant Cinema Paradiso, watching the taxis drive by. He'd called David from the hotel, which was only a few blocks away, so it would be a while before his brother arrived. For some reason it had taken ages before David had finally answered the phone, and when he did, he had seemed surprised, almost startled to hear who was on the other end.

It wasn't that long since they'd last seen each other -- was it? Lawrence, at least, could still remember their last meeting in every detail. He'd been staying at the Imperial then, too. They'd had breakfast in bed. Played with the honey. Almost like lovers, he thought. He looked forward to finding out how David would behave tonight -- if being somewhere else than their usual flower-curtained environment would have any influence on him.

One of the taxis he'd been following mechanically with his eyes slowed down and with a quick, elegant manoeuver pulled over and parked a few feet away from him. Lawrence strolled up to it and opened the door. David stepped out, wearing the dark blue velvet suit Lawrence had bought him about a year before. His expression was as serious as always. Lawrence handed the taxi driver a bank note, then lay an arm loosely around his brother's waist and escorted him into the restaurant.

There was a new waitress, who lead them to their table. Before David could take a seat, Lawrence turned to him, lay a hand in his neck and gave him a kiss on the lips -- just slow and tender enough to make the gazes of all the other guests turn in their direction. As he pulled away he noted with satisfaction that David had closed his eyes. "It's good to see you again, brother," he said.

"Hello, Lawrence," David replied quietly.

They sat down and Lawrence ordered a bottle of wine. As soon as the waitress had poured it for them and turned to walk away, he lifted his glass. "Cheers, brother. To our everlasting friendship."

David brought the rim of his glass to his and took a large sip. Lawrence studied his brother's pale face, the traces of fatigue in those familiar features. Then he nipped at his own glass. Yes, it was a good wine.

"You don't look so good, though," he remarked, opening the menu again and glancing over it.

"I have trouble sleeping," David answered.

Lawrence raised his eyebrows. "Well, you're none the less attractive for it. So - how's the writing business? Didn't you say last time that you're doing a project or something about me? I hope you haven't quit already."

He gave his brother a few seconds to process that information before he looked up, smiling as he saw David's alarmed expression. "Oh, you didn't mean to tell me about that? Well, don't worry about it. Decide what you want to eat."

***

Lawrence ate his ossobuco with gusto while he watched his brother slowly try to work his way through a salad. He wasn't entirely surprised that David had little appetite, nor that he drank one glass of wine after the other until his face began to glow. In spite of the alcohol he didn't say a word, as if he was determined to keep his thoughts to himself as long as he was able. Not that it made any difference. The dinner was just a game, a prelude to what would inevitably follow.

When they had finished their dessert wine and Lawrence had paid, he helped his now somewhat unsteadily walking brother out of the restaurant and into a taxi. As he told the driver the address and the taxi pulled out into the street, David suddenly looked at him with wild, panicked eyes.

"What are you doing?" he said. "We can't go there."

Lawrence smiled. "Why not? It's where you live, isn't it?"

David grabbed his arm, his face flushed with astonishment. "Yes, but... You always stay at a hotel. Isn't that... isn't that the way we..."

Lawrence leaned closer to him, kissed the corner of his purple, wine-stained mouth and said softly: "I thought it was time for a change."

David didn't answer. His eyes shot fire, but he turned his head and fixed his gaze on the street. Lawrence looked at him, the way he sat there, head slightly bowed, hands clenched into fists, and thought: he looks like father. For a moment he could feel the rage creeping up into his neck again, but he shook it off and smiled. That was a war he had won a long time ago -- by gaining control over the one thing they had most wanted to keep out of his hands.

***

As they stepped into the apartment, Lawrence took the time to look around. He took off his jacket and hung it over his arm while his gaze wandered over the closed blinds, the shelves sagging under piles of books, the cactuses dotted with tiny white flowers. The floor was littered with clothes, empty bottles and heaps of paper. His eyes came to rest on the coffee table, where a bottle of single malt and a few glasses sat next to another heap of paper, somewhat tidier than the others. He walked up to it, found a glass that was still gleaming on the inside, poured himself a drink and took a seat on the couch.

"Come on, sit down," he said, looking up at his brother.

David merely glared at him, arms crossed, his posture stiff and tense. Lawrence emptied the glass in one gulp and stood up again. With a few large strides he stood before his brother, looking into his burning, furious eyes. He took a few steps more, forcing David to back up against the wall.

"Nice apartment, brother," he said quietly. "Simple, honest. I like it. Let's go here every time. I've had it with those stupid hotels anyway."

David shook his head. "No."

Lawrence smirked. He spread his hands in an indulgent gesture, spun around on his heels and walked towards the front door. "Allright then," he said. "Maybe I should just leave, if that's what you prefer. I don't mean to intrude. I don't mean to trespass upon your privacy. Would you like me to go?"

For a moment David only stood there, staring at him. Then he slowly walked to the middle of the room and, as his brother followed him with his gaze, calmly removed his jacket. And then his shirt. And then his shoes. Lawrence's eyes widened. Suddenly he felt as if he had become part of a performance, that he had to wait until it was his turn to act. He leaned against the door, smiling as he watched his brother undress.

Finally he walked up to David, who now stood naked before him, regarding him with eyes that had cooled off to smouldering stones. As he lay his hands on his brother's bare shoulders, feeling a light shiver go through David's body at his touch, it still seemed to him as if he was going through the motions of an old ritual that had been enacted innumerable times. Touching his brother was the first step, caressing him the second, sliding his hands downward, pulling David's naked body close. Then the kiss, and David's silent surrender to it. His teeth grazing his brother's neck, David's response by tilting his head back, inhaling sharply, his visible erection pressing against his brother's concealed one.

Lawrence opened his shirt and unbuttoned his trousers, watching David sink to his knees. His brother's cool expression hardly matched the concentration and tenderness with which he moved his hands and lips over Lawrence's chest and belly. As he took Lawrence's cock in his mouth, his brother grabbed his hair with both hands, shivering with the sudden rush of pleasure.

He allowed David to continue until the sensation threatened to take control of him. Then he pulled back his brother's head and pushed him back onto the edge of the couch. As he spread his brother's legs, rubbed his cock with some more spit and slowly pushed into him, something in David's eyes finally seemed to stumble and fall.

"Oh...," he breathed. "Oh, god..." Lawrence pulled back and thrust into him again, deeper this time, watching his brother throw his head back, his hands clawing at the leather upholstery, moving over his chest, his face. Then he, too, was overcome by hunger and could hold himself back no longer.

***

Not much later Lawrence was sitting on the couch again, pouring himself a second glass of scotch. He had taken off the rest of his clothes and hung them over a chair. David was still on his hands and knees, cleaning the carpet with toilet paper. Lawrence looked at him. The pretty young writer, so melancholy and cold, so difficult to approach. He remembered a party that David had taken him to a few years ago, all those artsy drama queens, would-be rebels and self-absorbed suicidal poets who would have liked nothing better than to drown their sorrows in his brother's arms. He took a sip and smiled.

"You still fuck a lot, brother?" he asked.

David stood up and tossed the ball of toilet paper into the trash can. "Yes," he answered.

Lawrence smirked. No reason for alarm. David's affairs, if you could even call them that, never lasted longer than a few months, a year at most. "Anyone... special?" he inquired.

His brother turned around, meeting his gaze. They regarded each other in silence for a few seconds. Finally David said: "I'm going to sleep. Take a shower if you like. It's through the kitchen."

He turned again and walked into the hallway. Lawrence could hear him rummaging around the sink, the tap running. At the hotel David would have joined him in the shower. They would have fucked a second, maybe a third time, fallen asleep in each other's arms. What's keeping you? he thought. You can still have all that. Go on and get him.

He heard David open a door, close it again. Slowly he took another sip of his drink, and then another. The strange, intangible feeling crept over him that he needed to consider something, that there was something serious he ought to think about. He took another look around the room.

For the first time he noticed the record player on one of the bookshelves, the impressive record collection standing beside it. Above the writing desk hung a psychedelic movie poster of a man's head with a huge circle above it that could be a map of his mind, a tunnel or the inside of a space ship. Again his eye fell on the neat pile of papers lying before him on the coffee table. On an impulse he picked them up, turned them over and began to read.


End file.
